bleeder sniper
snide
little viper

you weeper
wiper,
tear reaper

i angle my head
to the sky
to inhibit
the lacrymosal function

i see you,
crier,
caller, please not
liar

i touch my,
gyre,
please, more, don’t
tire

the cream ceiling
hasn’t cracked
yet, exhibit
A, in the argument for eternity

for a thousand years (- more)
they have said he did it

for the dick

put himself in the sun’s seat

for the dick

had that stone (the sun, its’ heart, on earth)
dragged to be close to him.
to be close to his own heart, his own flesh;

inviolable, an emperor’s;

his face was stamped on coins (rings of gold)
and he stamped on the Great Bull’s legacy

with nothing but warmth - energy -
and life, for the flowers

they have said

for the flowers

“don’t have kids,
you’re not that ill”
-Das Racist

maybe we should’ve waited
til something that didn’t feel pain
brought consciousness
into consciousness

every wall a mountain,
every blockade
surmountable, and verdant

all my heart a desert,
my genitals
a tether, nerve and wordy

i say why snoop
roll so babylon?

why he think
to joint the gaaawd together
in his mind?

if we’re all gods+earths
on this,

then why he love them
three stripes
so?

wildcat tiny now
and lion so large-

but

a mile high
money pile
cannot change
its stripes